


Aquaphobia

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drown Malcolm Reed Month, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: Before entering Starfleet, Malcolm undergoes a psychological examination.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Pre-series. A late entry for Drown Malcolm Month.  
>  Beta: Sue C

â€œWhen did it start?â€

â€œWhen did what start?â€ 

â€œYou werenâ€™t always afraid of the water ...â€

â€œIâ€™m not afraid of the water, Iâ€™m afraid of drowning.â€

â€œAnd youâ€™re avoiding the question.â€ Dr Clements crossed his legs and tapped his pen twice against the yellow notepad resting on his knee. That little tic was becoming annoying. â€œYou can swim,â€ he began again. â€œYou handle a sailboat like an expert. You werenâ€™t always afraid of the water. So, when did it start?â€

Malcolm sighed and turned in his seat on the couch, leaning on the back and gazing out the window across the bay towards Starfleet Headquarters. Under the Golden Gate Bridge, the sea shimmered in the hazy sunshine, beautiful and treacherous.

â€œMichael was fourteen, so I must have been eleven.â€

â€œMichael?â€

â€œMy brother.â€

â€œTell me about him. Why is he important?â€

â€œBecause heâ€™s dead.â€

Clements made a note on his pad. Or it might have been a doodle. â€œWhat happened?â€

Malcolm continued to stare out the window, as though mesmerised by the rippling sea below them. He rubbed his forefinger across his chin. â€œWe were on holiday on Guernsey, in the Channel Islands â€“ my parents, Michael, me and our young sister Maddy. The islands are British territory, but theyâ€™re actually located off the coast of Normandy, France. Guernsey is tiny, just 9 miles at its longest point; 24 square miles in area. Mum was born on the island, and we used to go back there every year to visit our grandparents for the summer holidays. Itâ€™s beautiful, quaint â€” the kind of place you can let your children roam free without worrying what will happen to them. Or so my parents thought.â€

â€œAnd you and Michael and Maddy â€“ you roamed free?â€

Malcolm shook his head. â€œMaddy would only have been six or seven; too small to keep up with us boys.â€ He smiled a sad little smile. â€œBut Michael ... I followed him everywhere. Tried to do everything he did. And he didnâ€™t seem to mind, bless him. He was always patient, and kind. I canâ€™t remember him ever saying a cross word to Maddy or me. He loved to draw, and he was quite talented. I still have some of the sketches he made of Maddy and me, and our Dad in his Navy uniform ...

â€œOne of our favourite places was another much smaller island called Lihou, just off Guernseyâ€™s west coast. Itâ€™s uninhabited â€“ part of itâ€™s a wildlife sanctuary â€“ and you can only reach it on certain days at low tide by walking across a causeway from the mainland. 

â€œMichael loved it there. Weâ€™d pick our way across â€“ it was fairly treacherous, with all the slimy wet seaweed and algae. On the way weâ€™d dig around in the rock pools and see what we could find, or weâ€™d sift through the piles of driftwood and cuttlefish bones that washed up on the islandâ€™s shore. Michael would take his sketchbook, and draw the seabirds and wild plants and rabbits ... and I never tired of exploring the ruins of the ancient priory that archaeologists had uncovered at the end of the twentieth century. It was a unique place â€“ almost completely silent, except for the birds. No traffic and hardly any other human noise. Even if there were other people around, the island seemed to require silence.

â€œWe always had to watch our time for getting home. The safe crossing times are posted at the entrance to the causeway, and you canâ€™t cross unless itâ€™s completely clear of water. The tide comes up fast, and thereâ€™s a vicious undertow even in relatively shallow water. Michael always made sure we left in plenty of time to make it back, but that day ...â€ He trailed off, shaking his head as he felt a suspicious burning behind his eyes.

â€œThat day?â€ Clements prompted.

Malcolm took a deep breath and gathered himself visibly. â€œMichael called to me that it was time to go, and I begged for five more minutes ... I always wanted five more minutes ... We would have made it back easily, but Michael twisted his ankle in a rabbit hole as we came down the hill. He could barely walk. I tried to help him, but he was so much bigger than me and the ground was rough ... Michael thought weâ€™d still have enough time, but by the time we were half way across the causeway the water was ankle deep, and it was so hard to keep our balance that we knew we were in trouble. We tried to carry on, sliding on the wet rocks and cobbles, but even in that shallow water the current pulled at our feet. I was terrified, sure that we were going to fall and be swept away, and then ... somebody on shore must have seen us and called the lifeboat. They came out in their inshore RIB, but they couldnâ€™t get in close enough to us. Michael said weâ€™d have to wade out to them, into the deeper water. We knew how dangerous it was. We made it out to the boat, and Michael all but threw me into it. But he ... without my support for his ankle, he lost his balance. He slipped and went under, and then he was ... just gone. Swept away on the riptide.â€

Malcolm paused, twisting the handkerchief that had somehow appeared in his hands. His face was wet, and he wiped a drip from the end of his nose. â€œThey searched for him all the rest of that day,â€ he said, almost in a whisper, â€œuntil it got dark, and then for days afterwards. They never found the body.â€

Dr Clements let the silence lengthen for a count of ten. Finally he spoke. â€œWhat happened next? To you, I mean. What were the first signs you were developing aquaphobia?â€

â€œIt was just little things at first. Maddy was an excellent swimmer; the champion of her school. She loved to play on the beach, in the water. But I couldnâ€™t stand for her to be in there. It was so, so dangerous. Iâ€™d go down to the waterâ€™s edge with her, and try to pull her out if she went in past her ankles. It ended up that we couldnâ€™t go on seaside holidays any more.

â€œAnd then I stopped going out on the boat â€“ our familyâ€™s small skiff. At first I had to sit right in the middle. I couldnâ€™t move from that spot. I would sit there, rigid, trying to watch the water all around us â€“ trying to see in all directions at once. Whenever anyone else moved and rocked the boat, Iâ€™d cringe. I felt like the water was going to come up over the edge and swallow us. So I stopped going with them. I couldnâ€™t stop them going out in it, but at least if I wasnâ€™t with them I couldnâ€™t make a mistake that would get them all drowned.

â€œAnd then when my Dad left to go to sea again ...â€ He shook his head. â€œI had a meltdown. I felt sure the sea would swallow him. That he was never coming back.â€

â€œDid you feel responsible for your brotherâ€™s death?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œWhy?â€

Malcolmâ€™s voice was small, childlike. â€œJust five more minutes, Michael â€¦â€ he singsonged quietly.

â€œDid you get help afterwards? Did your parents talk to you, tell you it wasnâ€™t your fault?â€

Malcolm jumped up. â€œOf course it was my fault!â€ he roared. â€œI always wanted five more minutes!â€

Dr Clementsâ€™ voice was maddeningly calm. â€œBut did Michael let you have them? Did he let you stay?â€

Malcolm stopped. Stared. He looked back and remembered. â€œNo,â€ he said, his voice almost a whisper. He sat down again on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands. â€œNo, he never did. I always begged, but he was always so strict about the time.â€

â€œSo was it your fault?â€

â€œI suppose ... no, it wasnâ€™t.â€

â€œIt was an accident, Malcolm. A terrible, tragic accident.â€

â€œBut afterwards ...â€

â€œBeing upset about your brotherâ€™s death, then and now, isnâ€™t neurotic, itâ€™s normal. Wanting your family to be extra cautious around water, especially after the experience youâ€™ve had, is not only normal, itâ€™s sensible. If youâ€™d been able to talk this through with someone at the time, your aquaphobia might not have become so severe ...â€

â€œI suppose that means itâ€™ll never be cured?â€ Malcolm said glumly.

Dr Clements sighed, his expression kind. â€œProbably not completely. There are some exercises you could do ... but you donâ€™t really want to know any of that, do you? You just want to know if your aquaphobia will prevent your getting into Starfleet.â€

â€œAnd?â€

â€œWell, itâ€™s not the best thing to be taking on a deep space mission.â€

Malcolm reached for his jacket and made to rise. â€œThank you for your time, Doctor.â€

â€œWait, Malcolm. Itâ€™s not the worst thing either. The fact that you can talk about it calmly, rationally, and youâ€™ve developed coping strategies ...â€ 

Malcolm waited, hardly daring to breathe, as Dr Clements flipped open his file and scribbled something in it.

He handed the file to Malcolm. â€œIâ€™ll support your application for the NX program.â€

~end~


End file.
